« ZurückWeiter »
A man whose tuned humours be
The attending world, to wait thy rise, A seat of rarest harmony?
First turn'd to eyes; Wouldst see blithe looks, fresh cheeks, beguile And then, not knowing what to do, Age? Wouldst see December smile?
Turn'd them to tears, and spent them too. Wouldst see nests of new roses grow
Come, royal name ! and pay the expense In a bed of reverend snow !
Of all this precious patience : Warm thoughts, free spirits flattering
Oh, come away Winter's self into a spring ?
And kill the death of this delay. In sum, wouldst see a man that can
Oh see, so many worlds of barren years Live to be old, and still a man?
Melted and measur'd out in seas of tears ! Whose latest and most leaden hours
Oh, see the weary lids of wakeful hope Fall with soft wings, stuck with soft flowers; (Love's eastern windows) all wide ope And when life's sweet fable ends,
With curtains drawn, Soul and body part like friends;
To catch the daybreak of thy dawn! No quarrels, murmurs, no delay ;
Oh, dawn at last, long-look'd for day! A kiss, a sigh, and so away!
Take thine own wings and come away. This rare one, reader, wouldst thou see?
Lo, where aloft it comes ! It comes, among
The conduct of adoring spirits, that throng
Oh, they are wise,
And know what sweets are suck'd from out it.
It is the hive I sing the Name which none can say,
By which they thrire, But touch'd with an interior ray ;
Where all their hoard of honey lies. The name of our new peace ; our good ;
Lo, where it comes, upon the snowy dove's Our bliss, and supernatural blood ;
Soft back, and brings a bosom big with loves. The name of all our lives and loves :
Welcome to our dark world, thou womb of day! Hearken and help, ye holy doves !
Unfold thy fair conceptions; and display The high-born brood of day ; you bright
The birth of our bright joys.
Oh, thou compacted
Oh, dissipate thy spicy powers,
In balmy showers !
Oh, fill our senses, and take from us
All force of so profane a fallacy,
To think aught sweet but that which smells of thee.
Fair flow'ry name ! in none but thee, Bring hither thy whole self; and let me see
And thy nectarcal fragrancy,
Hourly there meets
An universal synod of all sweets;
By whom it is defined thus-
That no perfume Narrow and low, and infinitely less
For ever shall presume
To pass for odoriferous,
But such alone whose sacred pedigree
Can prove itself some kin, sweet name! to thee.
Sweet nanie ! in thy each syllable
A thousand blest Arabias dwell ;
A thousand hills of frankincense ;
Mountains of myrrh and beds of spices, Of heav'ns, the self-involving set of spheres,
And ten thousand paradises,
The soul that tastes thee takes from thence.
How many unknown worlds there are
Of comforts, which thou hast in keeping ! The airy shop of soul-appeasing sound :
How many thousand mercies there
In pity's soft lap lie a-slceping !
Happy he who has the art
To awake them,
And to take them
Home, and lodge them in his heart.
Oh, that it were as it was wont to be,
When thy old friends, on fire all full of thee, To wait at the love-crowned doors of that illustrious Fought against frowns with smiles ; gave glorious chase day
To persecutions ; and against the face
Of death and fiercest dangers, durst with brave Come, lovely name ! life of our hope !
And sober pace march on to meet a grave. Lo, we hold our hearts wide ope !
On their bold breasts about the world they bore thee, Unlock thy cabinet of day,
And to the teeth of hell stood up to teach thee; Dearest sweet, and come away.
In centre of their in most souls they wore thee,
Where racks and torments strir'd in vain to reach
Little, alas ! thought they
Who tore the fair breasts of thy friends,
Their fury but made way
SIR RICHARD MAITLAND.
What did their weapons, but with wider pores
More freely to transpire
That impatient fire The heart that hides thee hardly covers ! What did their weapons, but set wide the doors For thee ! fair purple doors, of love's devising ; The ruby windows which enrich'd the east Of thy so oft-repeated rising. Each wound of theirs was thy new morning, And re-enthron'd thee in thy rosy nest, With blush of thine own blood thy day adorning : It was the wit of love o'erflow'd the bounds Of wrath, and made the way through all these wounds. Welcome, dear, all-adored name !
For sure there is no knee
That knows not thee;
Alas ! what will they do,
To seek for humble beds
Will not adore thee,
And break before thee.
SIR RICHARD FANSHAWE. SIR RICHARD FANSHAWE, knight, brother of Thomas Lord Fanshawe, was born in 1607. He joined the royalists, and was secretary at war to Prince Rupert. After the Restoration, he was appointed ambassador to Spain and Portugal, in which character he died at Madrid in 1666. Fanshawe translated the Lusiad of Camoens, and the Pastor Fido of Guarini. With the latter production, published in 1648, he gave to the world some miscellaneous poems, from which the following are selected :
A Rose. Thou blushing rose, within whose virgin leaves The wanton wind to sport himself presumes, Whilst from their rifled wardrobe he receives For his wings purple, for his breath perfumes ! Blown in the morning, thou shalt fade ere noon : What boots a life which in such haste forsakes thee? Thou’rt wondrous frolic being to die so soon : And passing proud a little colour makes thee. If thee thy brittle beauty so deceives, Know, then, the thing that swells thee is thy bane; For the same beauty doth in bloody leaves The sentence of thy early death contain. Some clown's coarse lungs will poison thy sweet flower, If by the careless plough thou shalt be torn : And many Herods lie in wait each hour To murder thee as soon as thou art born; Nay, force thy bud to blow; their tyrant breath Anticipating life, to hasten death.
You musu waamo
The clean contrary way.
And for the ki lom's good,
And shedding guiltless blood.
All loyal subjects slay ;
The clean contrary way.
Of crown and power bereft him, And all his loyal subjects slain,
And none but rebels left him.
And sent our trunks away,
The clean contrary way.
That we against him fight, Nor are we ever beaten back,
Because our cause is right:
Our declarations say,
The clean contrary way.
And divers places more,
The like ne'er seen before !
And bravely won the day ;
The clean contrary way.
The kingdom's peace and plenty ;
Not known to one of twenty ;
And teach men to obey
The clean contrary way.
By prisonments and plunder,
By keeping the wicked under.
To lecturise and pray ;
The clean contrary way.
By that malignant crew ;
Give all of us our due.
Rebellion to destroy,
A Rich Pool. Thee, senseless stock, because thou'rt richly gilt, The blinded people without cause admire, And superstition impiously hath built Altars to that which should have been the fire. Where shall my tongue consent to worship thee, Since all's not gold that glisters and is fair ; Carving but makes an image of a tree : But gods of images are made by prayer.
A noble heart doth teach a virtuous scorn.
To scorn to owe a duty overlong ; A seat of rarshall save our lives, that stay
To scorn to be for benefits forborne; Wouldst
To scorn to lie, to scorn to do a wrong. Age ?
Men our faith and works fall down, Wound or wind and weather.
To scorn to bear an injury in mind ;
To scorn a free-born heart slave-like to bind.
But if for wrongs we needs revenge must have,
Then be our vengeance of the noblest kind;
Do we his body from our fury save,
And let our hate prevail against our mind ? (Written in 1646.)
What can 'gainst him a greater vengeance be,
Than make his foe more worthy far than he ?
Had Mariam scorn’d to leave a due unpaid,
She would to Herod then have paid her love,
And not have been by sullen passion sway'd.
To fix her thoughts all injury above
Is virtuous pride. Had Mariam thus been proud,
While Sidney, Spenser, Marlow, and other poets, In vain they'll think their plagues are spent,
were illustrating the reign of Elizabeth, the muses When once they see we don't repine.
were not wholly neglected in Scotland. There was,
however, so little intercourse between the two naWe do not suffer here alone,
tions, that the works of the English bards seem to Though we are beggar'd, so's the king ;
have been comparatively unknown in the north, and 'Tis sin t' have wealth, when he has none;
to have had no Scottish imitators. The country Tush ! poverty's a royal thing!
was then in a rude and barbarous state, tyrannised When we are larded well with drink, Our heads shall turn as round as theirs,
over by the nobles, and torn by feuds and dissenOur feet shall rise, our bodies sink
sions. In England, the Reformation had proceeded
from the throne, and was accomplished with little Clean down the wind, like cavaliers.
violence or disorder. In Scotland, it uprooted the Fill this unnatural quart with sack,
whole form of society, and was marked by fierce Nature all vacuums doth decline,
contentions and lawless turbulence. The absorbing Ourselves will be a zodiac,
influence of this ecclesiastical struggle was unfavour. And every month shall be a sign.
able to the cultivation of poetry. It shed a gloomy Methinks the travels of the glass
spirit over the nation, and almost proscribed the study Are circular like Plato's year,
of romantic literature. The drama, which in England Where everything is as it was;
was the nurse of so many fine thoughts, so much Let's tipple round; and so 'tis here.
stirring passion, and beautiful imagery, was shunned as a leprosy, fatal to religion and morality. The
very songs in Scotland partook of this religious chaLADY ELIZABETH Carew is believed to be the that ALEXANDER Scot, in his New Year Giji to the
racter; and so widely was the polemical spirit diffused, author of the tragedy of Mariam, the Fair Queen of Queen, in 1562, saysJewry, 1613. Though wanting in dramatic interest and spirit, there is a vein of fine sentiment and feel- That limmer lads and little lasses, lo, ing in this forgotten drama. The following chorus, Will argue baith with bishop, priest, and friar. in Act the Fourth, possesses a generous and noble Scot wrote several short satires, and some miscellasimplicity :
neous poems, the prevailing amatory character of [Revenge of Injuries.]
which has caused him to be called the Scottish Ara. The fairest action of our human life
creon, though there are many points wanting to comIs scorning to revenge an injury ;
plete his resemblance to the Teian bard. As speciFor who forgives without a further strife,
mens of his talents, the two following pieces are His adversary's heart to him doth tie.
presented : And 'tis a firmer conquest truly said, To win the heart, than overthrow the head.
Rondel of Love. If we a worthy enemy do find,
Lo what it is to luve, To yield to worth it must be nobly done ;
Learn ye that list to pruve, But if of baser metal be his mind,
that no ways may, In base revenge there is no honour won.
The grund of greif remuve. Who would a worthy courage overthrow,
But still decay, both nicht and day; And who would wrestle with a worthless foc ?
Lo what it is to lure ! We say our hearts are great, and cannot yield;
Luve is ane fervent fire, Because they cannot yield, it proves them poor :
Kendillit without desire, Great hearts are task'd beyond their power, but seld
Short plesour, lang displesour; The weakest lion will the loudest roar.
Repentance is the hire; Truth's school for certain doth this same allow,
Ane pure tressour, without messour; High-heartedness doth sometimes teach to bow.
Luve is ane fervent fire.
LADY ELIZABETH CAREW.
Satire on the Town Ladies.
Sen she that I have servit lang,
Is to depart so suddenly,
And beir thy lady company.
Fra she be gonc, heartless am I; For why? thou art with her possest.
Therefore, my heart! go hence in hy, And bide with her thou luvis best. Though this belappit body here
Be bound to servitude and thrall,
Wald God that I were perigall 2
Yet at the least, my heart, thou sall Abide with her thou luvis best. Sen in your garth3 the lily whyte
May not remain amang the lave, Adieu the flower of haill delyte;
Adieu the succour that may me save;
Adieu the fragrant balmie suaif,4 And lamp of ladies lustiest !
My faithful heart she sall it have, To bide with her it luvis best.
Some wifis of the borowstoun Sae wonder vain are, and wantoun, In warld they wait not what to weir : On claithis they ware mony a croun; And all for newfangleness of geir.3 And of fine silk their furrit clokis, With hingan sleeves, like geil pokis ; Nae preaching will gar them forbeir To weir all thing that sin provokis ; And all for newfangleness of geir. Their wilicoats maun weel be hewit, Broudred richt braid, with pasments sewit. I trow wha wald the matter speir, That their gudemen had cause to rue it, That evir their wifis wore sic geir. Their woven hose of silk are shawin, Barrit aboon with taisels drawin; With gartens of ane new maneir, To gar their courtliness be knawin ; And all for newfangleness of geir. Sometime they will beir up their gown, To shaw their wilicoat hingan down; And sometime baith they will upbeir, To shaw their hose of black or brown; And all for newfangleness of geir. Their collars, carcats, and hause beidis 14 With velvet hat heigh on their heidis, Cordit with gold like ane younkeir. Braidit about with golden threidis ; And all for newfangleness of geir. Their shoon of velvet, and their muilis ! In kirk they are not content of stuilis, The sermon when they sit to heir, But carries cusheons like vain fulis ; And all for newfangleness of geir. And some will spend mair, I hear say, In spice and drugis in ane day, Nor wald their mothers in ane yeir. Whilk will gar mony pack decay, When they sae vainly waste their geir.
Deplore, ye ladies clear of huo,
Her absence, sen she must depart, And specially ye lurers true,
That wounded be with luvis dart.
For ye sall want you of ane heart
Do go with mine, with mind inwart,
SIR RICHARD MAITLAND.
SIR RICHARD MAITLAND of Lethington (14961586), father of the Secretary Lethington, of Scottish history, relieved the duties of his situation as a judge and statesman in advanced life, by composing some moral and conversational pieces, and collecting, into the well-known manuscript which bears his name, the best productions of his contemporaries. These
1 Rather 8 Garden.
2 Competent; had it in my power.
I Wot, or know not.
ALEXANDER HUME, who died, minister of Logie, in 1609, published a volume of Hymns or Sacred Songs, in the year 1599. He was of the Humes of Polwarth,
Leave, burgess men, or all be lost,
ALEXANDER MONTGOMERY. ALEXANDER MONTGOMERY was known as a poet in 1568; but his principal work, The Cherry and the Slae, was not published before 1597. The Cherry and the Slae is an allegorical poem, representing virtue and vice. The allegory is poorly managed; but some of Montgomery's descriptions are lively and vigorous; and the style of verse adopted in this poem was afterwards copied by Burns. Divested of some of the antique spelling, parts of the poem secm as modern, and as smoothly versified, as the Scottish poetry of a century and a half later.
The cushat crouds, the corbie cries,
To geck there they begin;
They deave't me with their din.
Can on his May-cock call ;
And Echo answers all,
Repeating, with greeting,
His shadow in the well.
To make their morning mange.
With stiff mustachios strange.
The foumart and false fox;
With birsy bairs and brocks ;
Some feeding, some dreading
They play'd them all in pairs.
But quiet, calm, and clear,
Had trinkled mony a tear ;.
Embroidering Beauty's bed,
In May's colours clad.
Some knoping, some dropping
Through Phæbus' wholesome heat. Cry till their eyes become red. * Burns, in describing the opening scene of his Holy Fair,
• The hares were hirpling down the furs.'
Logie Kirk. and, previous to turning clergyman, had studied the law, and frequented the court; but in his latter years lie was a stern and even gloomy Puritan. The most finished of his productions is a description of a summer's day, which he calls the Day Estiral. The various objects of external nature, characteristic of a Scottish landscape, are painted with truth and clear. ness, and a calm devotional feeling is spread over the poem. It opens as follows:
O perfect light, which shed away
The darkness from the light,
Another o'er the night.
More vively does appear,
The shining sun is clear.
Removes and drawis by,
Appears a clearer sky.
The lapwing and the snipe;
O'er meadow, muir, and stripe. The summer day of the poet is one of unclouded splendour.
The time so tranquil is and clear,
That nowhere shall ye find,
An air of passing wind.
That balmy leaf do bear,